A Templar Unbound
by cenowar
Summary: Cullen had never felt like the hero of his own story. At least, not until the Inquisition uncovered an ancient relic that allowed him to view what might have been. With his past haunted by a woman — a mage — whom he could not forget, how much will getting a second chance change his life? Cullen/F!Mage (OC). Spoilers for all.
1. A Ritual of Favours

**Disclaimer**: Dragon Age is Bioware's sandbox — I'm just playing in it!

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**A Templar Unbound  
**By Cenowar

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**"I've never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden's Circle. I was… not myself, after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I'm not proud of the man that made me."  
**_\- Cullen, Dragon Age: Inquisition_

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Chapter One  
_A Ritual of Favours_

The stars above Skyhold weren't as clear or bright as they had once seemed.

Commander Cullen stared up into the night, a cool breeze catching him as it rose across the mountains and over the battlements, and he let out a quiet sigh. He should feel at ease, he told himself. While Corypheus's defeat had come at no small price, it was finally over — for now. He should be celebrating with the others, enjoying the victory of the Inquisition's plight, perhaps even being tempted to another round of Wicked Grace, if Varric got his way.

But, no. He was here, standing against the cold stone of the battlements and staring out into the endless mountains. Alone.

She had told him to meet her here, at this time, to avoid the prying eyes of those whose business should be elsewhere. Yet as Cullen stood and waited, a sense of unease began to creep over him, like small, invisible tendrils of cold piercing through his chest. This, what he was doing here tonight, was wrong. He suspected it was not unlike how he would feel if he were to make a deal with a demon. Oh, such irony. Fate was cruel.

Shoulders square and back straight, he braced himself against the crenellated wall and hardened his resolve: he had not spent the years since Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall infiltrating the Inquisition for nothing.

Cullen's fingers flexed against the stone under his grip, hard beneath his gloves. She should be here by now.

As though on cue he felt a pair of eyes upon him, the way one might feel a knife in the dark, and he turned to see the dark shadow of a cat slinking along the battlement's walls. With a cursory glance to the courtyard, to make sure they were alone, Cullen shifted his footing but did not turn to face her.

"I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind," he said into the empty air, taken aback by how the words came to him. Perhaps he should not be surprised by how easy it was to live in the shadows.

"And miss the chance to see a templar fall?" The voice was mocking, curved with a smile that was sharp as a blade. "That would be a grave mistake indeed."

Where once a sleek, black cat had sat, there now stood a woman, tall, slender, and laced with mystery.

Cullen gave Morrigan a swift glare. "I am not a templar," he reminded her. "I gave up that life a long time ago."

"Ah yes. The captain, torn from his righteous tower of persecution by the power-hungry mistress." Morrigan smiled a small, dark smile. "How you've changed from that boy we found shackled in the tower, surrounded by abominations, so long ago."

Cullen didn't care to keep the acid out of his voice — he would take a Tower of abominations over what he was about to do, any day. "Can we just get this over with?"

"Such a rush! Waited long enough, have you?"

"Look, do you have the Sphere or not?"

Morrigan's smile faded, but the fire and laughter in her eyes could not be quelled even by Cullen's fierce words. "I do. Follow me then, templar, if you wish. I do hope you know what you are doing."

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**-**x-

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When he had first read of the Dema Sphere, he had known, even then, that it was more than just a myth. At the time he couldn't explain it — the knowledge that he was reading about a forgotten relic, rather than a historical fable, had gripped him as tightly as a fist around his heart. An orb with the power to reshape the world; it was the kind of thing from children's stories, and yet…

The dusty tome had lain in the archives of Ferelden's Circle Tower, secreted away by the First Enchanter so that unwitting eyes wouldn't ever stumble across it. Cullen had been far too junior within the Order to really understand what he was reading at the time, but the knowledge of it had stayed with him, like music he couldn't quite get out of his head.

It wasn't until after he was sent away that he realised why.

After Uldred's uprising within the tower, something within Cullen had snapped — some branch of his morality, of his faith, had given out that night, and though he had reshaped himself since then, when a heart twists, even when it's rebuilt, it is never quite the same again. Everywhere he went, mages mutated from people into demons, or they were simply empty shells that could at any moment become demons, and _she_, the one who had slipped through his fingers like precious water in an oasis of dry, stark land, she too was the epitome of his nightmares. In some ways, she was the worst. The fact that a mage, of all things, had escaped his grasp so completely unsettled him. He had not heard of her since the night she had left the Tower, but his imagination had provided him with many creative possibilities.

She could be dead, he had rationalised. Dead, or a blood mage, or an abomination. Hundreds of nights he had spent torturing himself with what she could have become, and even more days he had lost in trying to find her. Never once was he successful, and so, in her absence, he had sought the Dema Sphere, which sang to him like a siren in his dreams when he had most needed a lifeline to reach for.

It had taken him years of dead ends, lost rumours and clandestine meetings before he had learnt its likely whereabouts. The irony of the fact that it was heavily guarded by magics only the most ancient of mages could invoke was not lost on him. A templar alone would never have been able to reach it, even if he'd found it, and the magic taught in each of the Circles throughout Thedas wasn't old enough to break the protections.

But there was more to the mages of Thedas — and the templars too — than could be kept in books; there were secrets that been lost, magics that were forbidden, and those whose stories were better left untold.

Morrigan, a Witch of the Wilds, was one such secret.

The room she took him to was cold, draughty, and felt like a part of the stronghold that had always been forgotten or overlooked. It was the kind of place you would build from the corner of your eye. At the end of the room stood the infamous Eluvian, whose stories of ancient magics unsettled Cullen more than he would like to admit. He liked things he could touch, forms he could remember, and it was why even now what he was doing felt like little more than a dream.

To have spent so long searching for the Sphere only to be within inches of it now…

"We have a deal, then, do we not?" Morrigan said, stirring him from his thoughts. She leaned casually against the wall, her arms folded, her eyes wicked in the torchlight as she watched him, and Cullen could not escape the feeling that he had somewhere along his journey become her prey.

He felt his mouth go dry. Flashes of memory — of red-gold ringlets, and a laugh that sent a shiver down his spine — made him shake his head to clear it. If he wanted what he had lost, he didn't have a choice.

Morrigan was expectant. "Well?"

Cullen closed his eyes. "If you have the Sphere, I promise you and your boy protection from the Inquisition for as long as I remain here," he agreed, the words like ash in his mouth. Maker forgive what he was about to do.

"Excellent. In that case, we shall begin."

* * *

-x-

* * *

There was nothing.

It was not only dark, but it was empty, cold. Cullen blinked, but it seemed to make no difference — he couldn't even make out his hand in front of his face.

"Hello?"

The word came out as heavy as stone, and it fell into the nothingness like lead. He took a step forwards, or tried to, but couldn't tell the ground beneath his feet from the air around him. Everywhere he looked there was inky black, like a sky without stars. Like a sky that had never had stars.

"Morrigan? Are you — are you there?"

Maker, he sounded as uncertain as a young boy.

From the darkness, a flash of orange light flared up, and it was blinding. Cullen covered his eyes with his arm as his gaze adjusted to the dim light. It was a candle flame, he realised. And, in front of it, the dancing shadows of Morrigan's eyes.

"Do not be afraid," she said softly, holding the candle towards him. "We are in a world rarely trodden by mortals."

The reality of what he had just entered into settled in the pit of Cullen's stomach, pulling at his confidence as though dragging him beneath the surface of a still, cool lake. He took a steadying breath, and looked around him. There was still darkness in every direction, and the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

"What did you — Are we still at Skyhold?" he asked, at a loss for the answers he wracked his mind for.

Morrigan gave a delicate laugh which was as cold as the chill on his arm. "To ask such a question is very…" Her eyes caught his, amber in the glow of the candle, alive with the ghosts of ancient magic. "Human," she finished, with an amused smile. "Do you really want to know, or would you rather I told you a story?"

Cullen swallowed. "Is this what the Sphere does?"

"Now there's a more sensible question. The answer is no, but it's closer to the truth than your other. Come with me, templar — the answers you seek are not far."

Though the world they were in seemed formless, and lacked shape or substance, Morrigan began to walk away from him. The candle's light left a trail of fire in the sky that hung in the air like mist, and caught Cullen's curiosity as though he were little more than a helpless moth. He followed, his steps seemingly endless in the dark.

"This is … not what I was expecting," he admitted, as he glanced around them. The inky blackness was everywhere he looked; he could feel it pressing against his limbs, seeping into his lungs as he breathed, tangling itself in his mind. It was a very surreal experience, and one that did little to calm the trepidation of his heart.

There was a smile on Morrigan's words as she spoke, "You sought a magic that was older than the earth itself. It's no surprise you were not prepared for what was to come."

"Older than the world itself? How is that even possible?"

"Many things are possible if asked for at the right price. Tell me." She looked back over her shoulder. "Why do you seek the Dema Sphere?"

Cullen's mouth became a hard line in his jaw, and he could feel the tension at his shoulders crackle down his back. "I have spent my life cast out of others' shadows, or forgotten by those who should remember me. Though I admit I'm more motivated by curiosity, now, than anger — I have still spent years wondering whether things would be different if I'd only saved her."

"'Her'?" One of Morrigan's dark eyebrows arched into a neat curve. "You do surprise me, _Commander_. I had not perceived you to be so easily swayed by whisperings of the heart."

"It's…" Cullen cleared his throat. "It's not as simple as that."

"It rarely is."

Though he could barely make out her actions, Cullen watched as Morrigan paused, and looked around where they stood.

"Yes…" she said distantly, almost to herself. "This will do. Here." She handed him the candle, and proceeded to sit at a bench that seemed to have been summoned out of thin air. In front of her was a table, black, cast iron and heavy, upon which she motioned for Cullen to place the candle. He was surprised to see a large glass orb sitting in the centre, that seemed, though he knew such a notion was foolish, to be waiting. For him.

At Morrigan's motion, Cullen took a seat opposite her. The impossibility of it all unsettled him, and he expected at any moment to wake from a dream.

"This," Morrigan spoke with reverence, placing her hands on the table, "is the Dema Sphere."

Cullen frowned. "Are you sure? It seems very unlikely that it would just… be sitting here."

"The Sphere isn't bound to the physical world as you are I are," she went on, as though she hadn't heard him. "There is a reason our books steeped such an item in mythology. Truly, you were the last person I expected to take an interest in it."

"Oh?" There was a hint of ice to his voice — Cullen did not appreciate being spoken to in such a patronising manner, though on the other hand, he supposed he deserved it.

"The kinds of people who become templars shy away from magic, especially magic which is both old and strong. They are ruled by fear, and it weakens them their entire lives." Morrigan regarded him across the candle flame with a level gaze. "It is surprising how quickly you turned from the path you walked for so long."

"I joined the templars to help people," he insisted, leaning forward towards the flame. "To make a better world. To protect the innocent, and to serve the Maker. The templars took a path I could… no longer walk. But my reasons for joining remain the same as I feel now."

A long moment stretched between them in which Morrigan did not take her gaze from him, and once again Cullen found himself feeling like she would at any moment swoop him into her talons and carry him off to Maker knew where. In one way, she had already done just that, and the thought that he was now helpless to the trappings of a mage instilled a strange kind of fear in him. She was right, in a way: he had come very far from the path he first walked.

"What do I do?" he asked, his gaze falling to the Sphere. It was as dull and unremarkable as the darkness around them.

"_You_ do nothing, except understand that once you begin down this new path, everything will change."

"…Everything?"

"And at the same time, nothing will change."

Cullen lifted his gaze to Morrigan's watchful eyes. "I don't understand."

"Then I will explain it for you, in words even you will understand." She placed a hand over the orb between them, her expression brooking no doubt of the severity of what he was asking. "You want to know how the world might be if things were different. That is what the Sphere will give to you. No more, no less. For a time, you will walk in another's shoes, breathe as another does, and live, dream and feel as another goes about his life. This other is not you, and will never be you. You cannot undo what has led you to where you are today. Such magic would threaten the stability of the world, and you would be hunted as Corypheus once was."

Despite himself, Cullen felt a tremor in his chest. "So this… this won't change anything?"

"You will have knowledge of what never was." Morrigan sat back, her interest in her warning forgotten. "How much or little that changes, will be up to you."

Cullen stared forward, into the silent orb, and repeated one of the verses from the Canticle of Transfigurations under his breath. He was going to see her again, he realised with a sickening sense of relief. And this time — this time, he was going to get it right.

"All right," he said. "I'm ready."

With a nod and a smile darker than their surroundings, Morrigan picked up the orb and held it for him. As their fingers touched she uttered a word he didn't understand, and his breath was sucked from him in a single gasp. The orb crashed to the ground; the candle went out; the world rushed back to him, into colour, pain, sensation, as his memories were torn from him piece by piece, year by year, none of them ever having happened.

And then, just as before, there was nothing.

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**A/N: **It has been many years since I've written any fanfiction - and many more since I've written anything worth reading! But Dragon Age Inquisition brought my thirst for obsessive fangirlishness rushing back faster than I was expecting. This story will probably be very slow burning, but I had several Cullen!ideas I was flirting with and this was just one of them. Wish me luck!


	2. Summoning

**Disclaimer**: Dragon Age is Bioware's sandbox — I'm just playing in it!

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**A Templar Unbound**

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Chapter Two  
_Summoning_

A closed fist hammering at the door woke Cullen from his rest faster than a bucket of cold ice.

He awoke with a start, his dream fading from him in a matter of seconds, until all that remained was the memory of a deep darkness and a pair of amber eyes. It took him a while to realise the knocking was not his imagination. Running a hand down his face, he sat up, as one of his fellow templars, a large man with broad shoulders and dark skin, crossed the room to the door.

Cullen felt his shoulders tense. The voices at the door were low, and while he couldn't make them out, a cold atmosphere descended on the room like a sudden mist. Had something happened to the mages?

With a brief nod to whomever was on the other side, Ser Darin closed the door and turned to his Knight-brothers with an unreadable expression on his angular face.

The templar quarters were split more generously than the mage quarters, a fact Cullen was often grateful for, but that did mean it took longer for news to get to them. Ser Hague and Ser Kaylin, two men he held in utmost respect, stirred from their sleep just as Cullen had done. One bed, for Ser Gorim, lay empty: he was on night duty, and was likely in one of the lower levels of the tower.

Darin regarded the men in front of him, his expression hard. "We're to meet with the Knight-Commander immediately." He spoke with the authority, crossing the room back to his bed. "There is a blood mage in the tower."

Cullen's blood ran cold as the colour drained from his face. A blood mage? The Circle in Ferelden was well known for its strong mage-templar relationship, and there hadn't been any signs of blood magic for… well, certainly not while Cullen had been at the Circle, and he could barely remember the last time it had been mentioned in the history books. While admittedly he had only read of such magic in books, he steeled himself — at least if they were being summoned, the mage was, hopefully, under control.

He dressed quickly, ignoring the pressing questions Hague and Kaylin asked of Darin; the man unlikely knew much more than they, and Cullen's seniority meant that he couldn't risk being seen like a gossipping apprentice in the face of true danger.

His hand hesitated when it came to his helm. Usually, when the Knight-Commander met with them in the council room, they were to be without their helmets — but if there was blood magic at the tower, Cullen supposed he needed to be ready for anything. He slid the metal over his head, grateful for the protection he immediately felt from it; while a helm would do little in the face of defending him from magic, it gave him a separation from the world directly in front of him. It gave him time to think.

The clank of armour through the tower was loud as the templars made their way to the council room, many of them talking in low voices about what was actually happening. While meetings themselves were not unusual, to be called up in the middle of the night was very much outside the ordinary. With most of the templars helmed, it looked and felt like an army was descending on the tower; which, even for a blood mage, Cullen wondered whether it was a little extensive.

The Knight-Commander was waiting for them in the council room, a grim expression on his stony face. By his side, and looking a little haggard himself, was First Enchanter Irving. A number of Senior Enchanters were gathered around the periphery of the room, their years of magical training unable to hide the nervousness in their eyes.

One by one the templars filed in and took their seats on the narrow, hard benches that stretched towards the back of the room. The room was adorned with banners laced with various heraldries, and at the head, there was a lectern emblazoned with the sword of the templars encased in an open circle — a symbol of the templars and mages together.

Once the room was full, Greagoir nodded to a Senior Enchanter, who closed the door behind them, sealing it with a magic so that they could not be overheard. He turned back to the room now filled with shuffling men and women, and cleared his throat for attention.

"I apologise for bringing you up here in the middle of the night," he began, standing with a back as straight as iron and his hands clasped behind him. Cullen always admired the way he held himself, and this evening was no different. "No doubt you've heard what all this is about: there is the possibility that a mage in the tower has used blood magic."

Immediately the room burst alive with conspiratorial whispers.

"It's that young apprentice on the lower floor," someone said, in a voice they barely bothered to keep hushed. "He's been looking shifty for months."

"No, it's his friend, the girl — she's always had a Fade look about her."

"What of the mage who recently passed his Harrowing?" someone else said.

"Oh yes, good point, you know I always thought there was something about him…"

Cullen could feel a headache coming on, and he removed his helm in order to better catch the Knight-Commander's attention. If all this was about was a rumour, then they may as well return to their beds.

"Ser." He spoke clearly, over the rising talk around him, but Greagoir ignored him in favour of raising a hand to signal quiet from his templars.

When they didn't oblige, he gave a curt, "Knight-Templars — you are reminded of your duty in these meetings."

Silence fell on the room as though the Knight-Commander had enlisted the help of the mages to get his Order to be quiet, and Cullen had to hide a smirk.

"I did not call you up here so you could discuss a rumour like some wet-behind-the-ears school children," he admonished, his eyes dark. Many of the templars avoided his gaze as it roved over them, but Cullen met the Knight-Commander's eyes with ease. "For clarity, there has been no evidence of blood magic in this tower. However, a mage has recently come into our care who _may_ be under the influence. At this point, it is difficult to tell, and we cannot make any assumptions either way. She's currently in the holding cells." He began to pace the room as questioning eyes searched each other for answers they didn't have.

"If there's no evidence," somebody asked, "why is she in the holding cells?"

The Knight-Commander paused while he considered the room. "We felt it best," he said eventually, "to err on the side of the caution. This mage is not a Ferelden mage, and the manner under which she has been delivered to us is not… normal."

Cullen's eyebrows raised in surprise. Kinloch Hold was one of two Circles in Ferelden, but it was easily the larger and more powerful. If a mage had been brought here from another region, that could only be because their own Circle was no longer suitable — assuming they had been part of a Circle to begin with. Curiosity flared to life within him, burning at his mind; but he knew better than to ask questions. At least, for the moment.

Usually, mages were brought to the Circle under the watchful eye of the templars sent out to find them. Either they were apostates, and a small order was sent to collect them, or they were runaways who needed to be tracked down. Cullen had had experience of both. He had never known a mage to simply turn up unannounced in the middle of the night.

"The templars who brought her have returned to the Free Marches," Greagoir was saying, as he continued his pacing. "There was an… incident at the Markham Circle where she resided, the details of which aren't yet clear. The First Enchanter and I, after some deliberation, have decided that she does not pose an immediate threat. However." Greagoir rounded on his group of recruits the way a wolf might on a pen full of lambs. "She could be dangerous, and for this reason, we must impose stricter sanctions on the mages here. For their protection, as much as anything else. A new rotor has been issued, and those assigned to the holding cells will have extra briefing after this meeting. The plan is to watch her for any signs of corruption or foul play. If she is found to be a blood mage, we will take it from there. If it is, indeed, just a rumour — then she will be admitted to the Circle as an apprentice and kept under our watchful eye."

A hundred questions brimmed to Cullen's mind, with such fervour that he had to bite down on his lip to prevent them from spilling out. What had happened at the Markham Circle that saw her transported to Ferelden in the middle of the night? Why not to one of the other Circles in the Free Marches? He wasn't familiar with the region, but he had read of it, and he was sure they had more than one.

It was at this point that Greagoir conceded the floor, and First Enchanter Irving stood up to approach the lectern.

Though he was a mage, Cullen had always harboured a great deal of respect for the First Enchanter. While he could, as far as Cullen was concerned, be a little too soft on the mages under his care, there was no doubt that he would do what was necessary if was ever called for. So he listened with rapt attention as the old man cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Knight-Commander," he said, offering a brief smile to the man who had no doubt caused him a great amount of grief over the years. "It should go without question that none of this is to be repeated to the mages of the Circle," he continued. "If you must speak of it, do so in your own quarters, away from the curious ears of those around you. That goes for the Enchanters as much as it does for the Templars," he added, his eyes scanning the outskirts of the room, where several mages stood patiently. "If all goes well, we should not need to meet like this again, and she will be placed within one of the four schools of magic to begin her lessons. Until then, have a care."

The Knight-Commander dismissed the templars, holding back only those who had been assigned to guard the holding cells. The equivalent of a solitary confinement prison, Cullen had only had duty down there once before, when he and another templar had been issued to watch over a mage who had made a second escape attempt. He wasn't best pleased at being held behind this time. The cells were dank, dark, smelling of rotten wood and rat droppings. Having to stand for silent hours on end was not exactly what he would call fulfilling.

Ser Darin stood beside him at the head of the room, with three others that Cullen couldn't name. They had all removed their helms, and he noted with surprise that one of them was a woman. She gave him an empty, polite smile and he nodded in return, not quite sure what to make of her — most of the templars in the Circle here were men.

Once the last of the mages had exited the room, Cullen was left with his peers, the First Enchanter, and Greagoir. He briefly wondered why he had been summoned as a guard: from the insignia on the uniforms he could see beside him, he was the lowest ranked member here.

Still, it wasn't his place to question. He listened silently as his Knight-Commander issued orders and instructions on the rotor, what was expected of their behaviour, how they were to watch for signs of blood magic, and how they weren't to leave one another alone with the mage for more than a few minutes. While under normal circumstances one templar was more than enough to dispel any mage magic, when it came to blood magic, you could never be too careful.

Upon asking if anyone had any questions, Cullen found he couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer.

"Ser," he said, giving a polite salute. "What happens if she is a blood mage? What's the protocol?"

The First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander shared an uncertain look, which did little to ease the worry that had begun to gnaw away in Cullen's gut, like a vulture picking at the bones of his confidence.

"You will know soon enough," Irving offered with a slow nod. "The first priority is to keep the Circle safe. If Selena is a blood mage, you should neutralise her and fetch someone of rank immediately. Depending on the circumstances, it will be our decision on whether to invoke the Rite of Tranquility, or whether to…"

He couldn't finish his sentence, and left the words hanging in the air.

Despite himself, Cullen pressed for more questions: while he had spent a good amount of years getting his curiosity under control, if he was going to be in direct contact with a mage who was in immediate danger of becoming an abomination, the more he knew, the better. Knowledge was power, after all.

"Why was this not dealt with at the Markham Circle?" he asked with a frown. "Surely their templars are just as capable as ours?"

Greagoir's nose twitched, and he scanned the eager faces before him. "It is possible their templars have been compromised," he admitted after a long moment.

"Compromised?" This wide-eyed question came from the only female present in the room. "How can a templar be compromised? We are immune to magic."

"Not all who join your ranks do so with a noble heart, child," replied the First Enchanter wearily. "And while your magical resistance is certainly in your favour, to assume you are immune entirely is not wise. Besides which, there are other forms of compromise with which magic has no connection.

"The relation between templars and mages in the Markham Circle is not as productive as it is here. Allegations fly as easily as stones, and every one must be looked in to fully. It was thought best for the templars there, as well as for this mage, that she be delivered to an outside perspective."

Beside him, Cullen could see Darin's gloved hands clench into fists. "We should take no risks," he said, his voice acerbic. "She should be made Tranquil immediately. Ser," he added, as an afterthought.

First Enchanter Irving raised an eyebrow, moving his cool gaze to the young man who had spoken. Cullen didn't envy him. Though the enchanter was old, to be under the full scrutiny of his gaze was to be like standing amongst a ruin in an earthquake. He remembered once, shortly after he had first come to the Circle, he had been called before the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander for a crime he had not committed — some transgression a mage, whose name he didn't even know, had accused him of — and it had been like staring into fire and ice in equal parts. The hot tempered flair of his Knight-Commander, and the cold, piercing stare of the First Enchanter.

Trouble that they were for each other, Cullen had to admit that they were well matched, in both wit and experience.

"How quickly you would instill the Rite," Irving commented lightly, though his eyes held more than he was saying. "Perhaps it is fortunate you are not the one in charge."

Given that Darin was the most senior of them all, barring the Knight-Commander of course, Cullen found it difficult to hold back a smile at the rebuttal. He had never been a huge fan of Darin, who had become a nightmare once he'd caught whiff of the rumour that he was to shortly be promoted. He would order his fellow templars to perform tasks he saw as beneath him, which were only obeyed because he had been at the Circle so long. While Cullen didn't join in with the whispers or sharp looks that were exchanged behind Darin's back, he did little to discourage them either.

Darin's cheeks grew flushed at the veiled insult the First Enchanter had thrown at him, but wisely, he bit his tongue.

Greagoir, clearly growing weary of how events were unfolding, looked between them all. "I trust there are no further questions?"

Cullen had many, but even he could see it would be foolish to raise them now, so he replaced his helm and, with his comrades, marched out of the room. Perhaps if he had known what was to befall him after that night, he wouldn't have been in such a hurry to leave.

* * *

**A/N**: Wow! Thank you to those who have reviewed and followed thus far, it was a pleasant surprise to watch those notification ping into my inbox :) Certainly helps with encouraging me to continue writing! I hope you like this. More build up than action in this chapter, but that will change in the following ones. Promise! Also, um, I have no beta, so all mistakes are mine.


	3. Strange Magics

**Disclaimer**: Dragon Age is Bioware's sandbox — I'm just playing in it!

* * *

**A Templar Unbound**

* * *

Chapter Three  
_Strange Magics_

Compared with the day-to-day noise and bustle of the Circle's mage and apprentice quarters, the solitary isolation cells seemed eerily silent.

Cullen knew why. To begin with, they were hardly ever used, which he supposed was a blessing for many reasons. But to follow, and possibly part of the reason that he could feel the hairs at the back of his neck start to tingle, it was because the old and otherwise forbidden magic that was laced into the stonework meant that those held in their individual cells had no awareness of the world beyond.

He couldn't deny his fascination at the complexity of the isolation quarters. The magic prevented anyone beyond the threshold from seeing or hearing what went on outside their , it was seemingly unaffected by the templars' attempts to dispel it, as Greagoir had once demonstrated to an astounded Cullen. To the occupant of the cells, they were completely and totally alone. This allowed the templars to keep a steady watch over their charges without risk of being disturbed, and to monitor the mages with absolute concentration. And, for the mage, it reminded them of the purpose of their exclusion.

On Cullen's first assignment down here, the Knight-Commander had made him stand in one of the cells alone for a few minutes. He had been surprised to find it moderately comfortable. There was a bed, a desk, a chair, a small bookshelf, and a number of candles lining the walls. They cast a soft, ember glow, chasing the shadows away. On one of the walls was a banner with Andraste's heraldry, an excerpt from the Chant of Light, and the mark of the templars – Cullen had supposed this was so the mages in captivity would not forget their reason for being there.

At first, it hadn't been so bad. The cell, while starkly decorated, was at least comfortable, comparatively warm, and seemed to offer a place of peace and tranquillity. But the more time he spent in there, the more the moments seemed to blend into each other. As soon as he had stepped over the threshold of the door, it was like the world outside simply... ceased to exist. He could see the corridor, and the templars standing there, but their presence no longer registered any meaning to him. It was like looking at a painting he couldn't quite recognise.

There was a stillness, a silence, that had come over everything in an unnatural combination. He had been quite grateful when the Knight-Commander had opened the door and allowed him back out into the corridor. It was the first time he had really considered how the Circle could be viewed as a prison, rather than a place of safety or education.

The sound of Cullen's footsteps were dulled by the faded rug underfoot, but he was grateful for it: even a cough or a whisper seemed as loud and obnoxious as a shout down in these quarters.

He walked beside Gillian, the pretty, blonde templar who had also been called back after the emergency midnight meeting. It was her first experience keeping watch in the isolation cells, but Cullen suspected she wouldn't get quite the introduction he did.

They passed a pair of templars keeping guard outside a cell that was occupied. It was well lit by candles from behind the cast iron bars separating the room from the rest of the world. From behind the privacy of his helm, Cullen spied the young man inside, and was quite surprised: the golden robes showed him to be a fully fledged mage, one who had passed his Harrowing, and he was lying casually on the bed while scratching the ears of an attentive cat, humming. It was hardly how he would have expected the reaction for such punishment.

Still, he hadn't the time or interest to waste thinking on it. Their own charge awaited them only a few cells away.

She had already been placed in her cell by the time they reached her. A Markham templar stood waiting for them, the bronze-sheen of his armour the only sign that he was from a distant land and not part of the Ferelden Circle.

"Good, I was hoping someone would arrive soon," he said as they approached, his voice muffled from behind his helm. "We don't have such a place in Markham. It gives me the willies."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Your mage will be in good hands," Cullen informed him, ignoring the soft laughter from his comrade. "We'll take it from here."

"May the Maker watch over you," the templar returned politely, moving past them. Cullen watched as he stalked off down the hallway, before he turned to Gillian at his side.

"Do you need any further briefing?"

She seemed to glance around the place, then shook her head. "No, Ser. Although..."

When she didn't finish her sentence, Cullen tried to temper his annoyance by reminding himself that he, too, didn't much care for the feeling this place instilled in him. The sheer amount of magic that was laced into the walls was sending his senses into overdrive, making it more difficult to concentrate than up in the rest of the Tower. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.

"Yes?"

"Well, Ser, we were... we were called away so suddenly in the middle of the night... I didn't have time to..." She began to pick at her skirt, distracted, and Cullen resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Any dealings you had before our shift started should have been dealt with before coming down here," he said, his strict and stringent training brooking no room for debate. "There must be two of us to watch the mage at all times. If she uses blood magic, one of us may not be enough."

All he knew of blood mages was what he had learned from his studies or heard from others – and, while he admitted he was curious, he would rather it stayed that way. Everything he had read made clear the evil that came with such a magic.

The templar glanced to the cell, then back to him. "Can't she hear us?"

"No – have the cells not been explained to you?"

When she shook her head, Cullen blew out an irritated breath through his nose. It wasn't her fault. These were unusual circumstances. He just wished he didn't have to share his first shift with someone who acted so junior, when he knew, he could see on her arms, that she was more senior than him. Sometimes he questioned the ranking system in this Tower.

So he explained, as best he could, how the cells worked, and then suggested that whatever business she needed to see to, be done after their six hours shared together.

She turned silent after that, a fact that Cullen was grateful for, and she took up her post at one side of the cell.

As Cullen crossed the floor towards the other side, he allowed himself a glance behind the bars, and promptly forgot how to walk.

He couldn't explain it. He had never sensed such power, or noticed such subtleties, from anyone. It was like he'd been winded, only instead of air from his lungs she'd drawn all his thoughts from his mind. The feeling of immense power was so strong it was as if she had reached through the bars and grabbed him with her own two hands.

She was sat the desk, with her back to him, a mass of curls falling past her shoulders, and her blue robes dull in the candle light. She was as still and silent as if she had been carved from stone. But she had such... _presence_, it was as though he could actually feel the life emanating from her. He became immediately attuned to everything about her: the curve of her neck, the fall of her hair, the line of her back, the sound of her breath.

Was this what the presence of blood magic felt like?

He was grateful for the helm he was wearing, as it concealed the uncomfortable heat that rose to his cheeks, or how fast his breath was coming. The urge to dispel the area of magic and cleanse the space between them was almost overwhelming; he had to clench his fist to ground himself.

Willing himself to move, he finally managed to take up post on the order side of the cell, the illusion of his confidence shattered.

If Gillian had noticed anything, she remained silent. Cullen let out a cool, silent breath, and kept his gaze fixed on the wall before him. This mage, whoever she was, possessed astounding power. Why had his Knight-Commander not mentioned this? He sucked in another breath, forcing himself to relax.

It was going to be a long six hours.

* * *

-x-

* * *

Cullen splashed his face with water, relishing the feel of fresh air and coolness on his skin. Six hours. Six hours he had been standing outside that cell, in silence. Six hours of an aching back and tired feet and willing his eyes not to slip closed, thanks to his interrupted sleep. He had kept himself occupied by running the Transfigurations through his mind, while at the same time looking out for any signs of blood magic from their captive mage.

Upon their relief, Gillian had gone straight back to her quarters for some much needed rest. Cullen, however, had come straight to the chapel. Maker forgive him, he needed to pray.

Drying his face with a wayward cloth, Cullen turned and knelt in front of the statue of Andraste at the head of the small chapel. He always liked coming here. He was always certain to find peace, space, and a quieting to the din of the world around him.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter," he murmured, his eyes closed and forehead pressed against his clasped hands. "Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

Almost immediately he felt the tension that had been building between his shoulder blades abandon him, and he didn't bother holding back his smile.

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blo— "

"Well, well, well."

His prayers were broken by the mocking tones of one of his fellow templars, and Cullen opened his eyes. Immediately the ache in his shoulders returned and he paused before getting to his feet. He was not at all surprised to see Darrin casually slouched against the doorway, his arms and ankles crossed.

Cullen fixed him with a stony glare. "I trust you have good reason to disturb me, brother?"

"Of course. I've come here to pray, same as you."

Cullen highly doubted that. In all of the sermons he had been to as delivered by sister Ailven, he had never once seen Darrin amongst the devoted. While it certainly wasn't mandatory to attend the religious sermons, Cullen found it helped to focus his mind and keep him grounded in what was important. It helped him distance himself if things at the Circle ever became too much, which had happened on occasion. Their space they had to keep from the mages, the hostility that sometimes settled in the air between them, the feeling of being part of an invisible force holding powerful magic back — it was a lot to handle, even with several years of training.

"Shouldn't you be down in the — " Cullen glanced around to make sure they were alone, " — isolation cells?"

"My shift doesn't start for another twelve hours yet." Darrin came into the room, then stopped.

Cullen raised an eyebrow. It was not like this man to be so unsure of himself.

"I was wondering whether you and I could… talk," Darrin said after a long pause.

"You want to talk? With me?"

"Yes."

Cullen straightened, keeping his face impassive. He and Darrin barely had two words to say to each other, and that was after having shared quarters with the man for the last few months. "What about?"

"The mage. She's… I don't think the Knight-Commander is handling this appropriately. I hoped you might talk to him."

"Me?" Cullen let out a bark of laughter. "What in the name of the Maker do you think I would say to him? And why?"

Darrin's eyes grew hard, dark, and when he took a step forward, Cullen instinctively took a step back. "Look, I don't expect someone like you to understand," he said, his hand slicing through the air, "but she's dangerous. I _know_ she's dangerous. If there's any chance of blood magic, any at all, then it's just not worth the risk. You have to convince the Knight Commander to make her Tranquil."

"I understand your fears, Ser Darrin, but — "

"No, Cullen, you don't."

He was taken aback by the informal use of his name, and the word stung at him as though he'd been bitten by a wild animal. Cullen folded his arms over his chest, fixing his superior with a long gaze.

"Ser, if you insist on harassing me in this manner, I _will_ have to talk to the Knight-Commander — but not about the mage."

"You blasted fool." Darrin strode forward with a fierce look in his eye, and for a second Cullen thought he meant to strike him; but the older man moved past him, to a book placed on a pedestal in front of the statue of Andraste. Spreading his hands he placed his palm face down across the pages, and looked Cullen right in the eye. "By the blood of the Maker I swear what I am telling you is true. That woman is a blood mage, with a knack for enthralling templars. Why do you think they sent her here? She's already infiltrated the Circle at Markham."

"There's no way to know that for certain." Cullen couldn't keep the sneer out of his voice. "I had thought you above such notions, Darrin."

"I do know." Darrin dropped his hand from the sacred book, and turned away from the room, towards the statue of their beloved prophet. "My brother is a templar at Markham," he said quietly. "He writes me letters. I've heard all about Selena bloody Vallon."

Ah. "And what have you heard, exactly?"

"There's … I don't know, just something about her. You've been down with her, you must have sensed it." Darrin looked back over his shoulder, and there was something pleading in his eyes.

Cullen was about to rebuke him, when he remembered that feeling that had overcome him when he'd lain eyes on her; that helplessness, that force. His mouth dried a little as the words died on his tongue.

Darrin's eyes grew wide. "You've felt it, haven't you?" he said, approaching the templar. "You've felt her thrall."

Cullen looked away, his mouth forming a thin, hard line. He wasn't sure what he had felt. It had been fleeting, whatever it was, although he hadn't looked at her again in those whole six hours.

"You _must_ tell the Knight-Commander," Darrin insisted.

"Why would he even listen to me? You're the senior templar here, I'm just… another brother in arms."

There was a short pause before Darrin offered him the first smile he could ever recall seeing on the man. "I thought you knew. You're pegged for the next promotion, Cullen."

"…Are you certain?"

"If what I've heard is anything to go by. Take from that what you will. But regardless." The urgency had returned to his voice. "The Knight-Commander does listen to you. You're one of his favourites. If you tell him this mage must be made Tranquil, that you've sensed blood magic in her, that you've seen her do it, then — "

"No." Cullen cut him off more forcefully than even he was expecting, and Darrin looked taken aback. "I am not going to lie to the Knight-Commander. Making a mage Tranquil isn't something that should be done lightly, and certainly not because of… " A feeling, he couldn't say. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We have to wait for something more," he urged. "If you're right, and she is, indeed, a blood mage, then we'll know soon enough. Blood mages succumb to demonic forces and use that to empower themselves. Any kind of power she shouldn't wield, any attempt to break out of her cell or call on the spirits of the Fade, and we can go from there. But I'm not going to sentence her to a soulless life just because of what you have heard."

He drove his finger into the breastplate of his peer to mark his point, fixing him with a gaze as earnest as he could manage.

In truth, he wasn't quite sure he believed his own words, but he wouldn't give Darrin the satisfaction of manipulating him. The allegations against Selena were just that: allegations. And while he couldn't dent that something had happened when he looked at her, it wasn't like any spell he had ever read about or encountered, and despite its power, it didn't feel sinister.

For a long moment, the two men regarded each other with a mass of unsaid words. Then, Darrin sighed, breaking the eye contact and moving towards the door of the chapel.

"Ser Darrin," Cullen called sternly and waited for the other man to pause. "I don't want to hear of this again. If I hear you've been saying such things to the other recruits watching over Selena, Maker preserve me I will report you to the Knight-Commander. Persecution is not what being a templar is about."

Darrin's eyes were cold. "You'll regret this. When she's outsmarted you all, and she's running this Tower like we're her playthings, you'll regret it."

"Good day, Knight-Templar," Cullen said forcefully. It was a rude dismissal, but after that conversation, it was the best he could manage.

After a few moments of standing alone with nothing but the rumble of his stomach to keep him company, Cullen let his gaze fall to the marble carving of Andraste. He envied that statue sometimes; the wondrous look of peace on her face, the ease with which she bestowed forgiveness, and love.

"Magic is made to serve man," he mumbled thoughtfully.

Then, shaking his head, he collected his helm and made his way towards the Knight-Commander's office.

* * *

**A/N**: Thank you once again for those who have taken the time to review or follow my work! I appreciate this is quite slow to start, but hopefully it will be worth it. This chapter was much more difficult to write than I intended, because at least initially it was going to be from Selena's point of view, before I realise that the magic that Cullen (the real Cullen, with Morrigan) is using would only show him himself, or events, rather than showing him others' minds. Also I realise we haven't really **met** Selena yet, but all that will change soon.

Anyway, it's been a great boost to my confidence to see those notifications file into my inbox, and they really make writing this so incredibly rewarding. Thank you for reading :)


	4. Gone

**Disclaimer**: Dragon Age is Bioware's sandbox — I'm just playing in it!

* * *

**A Templar Unbound**

* * *

Chapter Four  
_Gone_

Cullen always felt like he was back in his pre-Knighthood training whenever he sat in this office.

The first time had been shortly after he had been transferred to the Ferelden Circle Tower, and he had had to explain himself to both the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter regarding an allegation one of the mages had made against him. It was said that he'd threatened the boy — Anders, by nickname — with torturous drains on his mana unless he agreed to give him his entire stock of Lyrium potions whenever he asked.

Cullen could still remember how small he'd felt in that chair, how unimportant he had felt when defending himself, a newcomer, against such allegations.

In the end, Anders was found to have been making similar claims against other much less likely templars, and Cullen's dignity and record had remained in tact.

Nevertheless, looking into those dark grey eyes always reminded him of looking into a storm at sea, and he was never sure about putting himself willingly in its wake.

"I must say, I'm surprised," Knight-Commander Greagoir said, leaning back in his chair and considering the young recruit over steepled fingers. "Ser Darrin has always shown excellent loyalty to not only the Order, but to the cause of protecting the mages. It's unusual to hear about him behaving this way."

Cullen swallowed down the taste of betrayal in his mouth. He hadn't wanted to report Darrin, particularly, despite his dislike of him, and neither had he wished to stir up any trouble. His fear, however, was that Darrin would orchestrate something on his Watch that might not necessarily have happened. This mage, whom none of them really knew, already had the word of several Circle templars against her; he was interested in the truth, and nothing more.

The risk of that being clouded by prejudice just wasn't worth what it might cost them.

He had wanted to leave Darrin out of it altogether, truth be told, but being coy about what he needed to report would only have angered the Knight-Commander, whose temper was as stable as a novice mage's fire spell.

Knight-Commander Greagoir sniffed, and motioned towards the doorway. "If that's all, Knight-Templar…"

Cullen hesitated. One question had been burning in the forefront of his mind since this had all begun, and as Greagoir looked at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised, he found he couldn't hold back.

"Ser… What happened with this mage in her Circle tower? Why has she been sent here?"

The Knight-Commander considered him for a long time. Cullen simply sat there, blinking and trying not to ignore how he had suddenly become conscious of his own breathing, when eventually, Greagoir sat back in the chair. He rested his arms on the armrests and covered his jaw with his hand.

"Why do you ask, Cullen?" He surprised the young templar with the informal use of his name.

"I, er, um." Cullen stumbled over his words, silently chastising himself for seeming like such an amateur in front of his superior. The fact that the Knight-Commander might question his motivation had not crossed his mind. "Curiosity, Ser?" he finished lamely.

The corner of Greagoir's mouth curved into a small smile, gone so quickly that Cullen wasn't quite he'd seen it.

"I see. Unfortunately, Ser Cullen, I cannot tell you exactly what happened at the Markham Tower. We have two very different accounts of the same set of circumstances, and presently, no way to identify which is the truth and which is fabricated to avoid insult."

"Perhaps they're both true, Ser," Cullen suggested, earning him an appreciative nod from his Knight-Commander.

"Indeed. Either way, until things here have played out, I wouldn't want to colour your opinion of the girl. Perhaps… she may tell you, if it comes to that. When the time is right."

Cullen frowned. Just what on earth had happened at that Circle? "Ser?"

"All you need to know is that she has the potential to be a blood mage," said Greagoir, placing his hands on the desk. "And with that in mind, I would appreciate it if you… kept an ear out, for any false accounts. I'd appreciate a report after each of your shifts?"

Getting to his feet, Cullen offered Greagoir a modest bow. "Of course, Ser. I'll leave you to your duties."

"Maker go with you, Cullen."

"As with you, Ser."

As Cullen pulled the door closed behind him, he paused, taking a cooling breath. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, exactly, from that meeting, but it seemed to have gone well enough.

He set off down the corridor towards the mess hall, finally giving in to his stomach's insistent need for breakfast, his head swimming with thoughts of the mage in confinement.

* * *

-x-

* * *

Selena spent one month in solitary isolation.

The only contact she had with the outside world was when her meals or new robes were brought to her, when she would smile politely and say a soft 'thank you' to whomever was at her door. On more than one occasion this had been Cullen himself, and he had stood stiffly holding the tray or garment out to her, feeling her soft, brown eyes on him. She couldn't see his face – the helm saw to that – and he never spoke. But somehow it always felt like she knew it was him; there was something in her smile or the way she spoke, and he would spend the next hour with the uncomfortable sensation of having been caught doing something wrong. He had to try harder than usual in those moments not to look at her.

Once, he had glanced into the cell and found her looking directly at him. Her eyes transfixed, their brown depths were focussed on the path of his own gaze, like she could see him. It made his heart stutter with unease. He swallowed silently, reminding himself yet again that there was no way she could have known he was there. It was still remarkably difficult to tear himself away and return to staring at the spot on the wall he had become so accustomed to. He wondered if she had such an effect on any of his brothers, but thought it wise to keep such a question to himself.

From what he could tell, Selena spent most of her time in thoughtful silence. She moved about her cell as though she had always been there. She would stand in front of the banner of Andraste, murmuring quietly under her breath. Or she would sit at the desk, quietly leafing through one of the books with the aid of the soft candle light. Or she would simply wait on the bed, her eyes closed, in meditation.

Occasionally the resident cat would squeeze between the bars and sniff at her fingers inquisitively. Her face always lit up at his visits, breaking into a wonderful smile that brought her eyes to life. She would coo at the beast, stroking his ears, seemingly overjoyed to have some company at last.

This display of affection always seemed to irritate Cullen, who had never liked the cat very much, but it would have been cruel to dissuade the animal from the occasional visit he made to the cell – Selena's only other company was her own.

She had once or twice attempted to summon a little magic. The presence of it always made Cullen's back tense and set his nerves on fire, but they had never been very powerful spells: a small lick of flame to re-light a candle that had burned down, or the fizz of electricity to crackle in the air when the silence apparently got too much for her. However, the rooms were built to dispel such magic almost immediately, and her crestfallen expression after her attempt never failed to make Cullen feel a bit sorry for her.

But then he would shift, straighten, stare ahead, and remind himself that she harboured the potential to be a blood mage; it would not do to offer her any sympathy until after her name had been cleared.

"Did you feel that?" the templar sharing his watch asked him once, after she had attempted and failed to summon a small stream of fire, possibly to warm herself – it was particularly cold in the Tower that night. "Was that blood magic?"

"Nothing to alarm yourself with, Ser," Cullen had replied, his voice strict. "Occasionally mages do attempt magic when they're held down here. There seems no evidence of blood magic yet."

He could tell his peer wasn't convinced, as he kept glancing back into the cell at every movement the mage made.

It was only when she slept that Selena gave Cullen any cause for concern.

She would twitch fitfully in her sleep, murmuring nonsense or whimpering into the dark. She would toss and turn, the sound of the heavy blanket against the mattress rough and grating. More than once, Cullen had found himself drawn to the bars, hands curled around the iron as he watched her fend off what he assumed were nightmares from the Fade.

While he sensed no magic from her, and there never seemed to be any trace of demonic possession, he would pour all his strength into watching for any sign at all that something was amiss. But she always woke eventually.

As the days turned to weeks, she always seemed tired when he looked at her, dark circles burnishing her otherwise clear and pale skin. From what he could tell, there was no sign of darker magic running through her veins. He found himself hoping, sometimes praying, for her safe admission into the Circle as a student. He was certain it was where she belonged.

Since Darrin's removal from her Watch had been commissioned by the Knight-Commander, Cullen always found excuses to avoid his quarters unless it was strictly necessary. On the rare occasion he did come across the other man, there was a somewhat awkward formality between them. While Darrin couldn't have had any proof that it was Cullen who had reported him to the Knight-Commander – and while Greagoir had been surprisingly subtle about the whole thing, feeding it to Darrin such that his impressive skills were needed elsewhere – the man wasn't an idiot. After their conversation, he was sure to know that Cullen was responsible, and he could feel the weight of that every time he was levied with the other man's gaze.

Cullen took to spending more time with Gorim and Kaylin, although he disliked their endless questions about the mage down in the bowels of the Tower.

"You know I can't tell you anything," he would tell them, every time. "Please, don't make me say it again."

Still, when they weren't either patrolling the hallways or undertaking their templar duties, the three of them could often be found roaming the halls together, or sitting in the common room playing cards. Cullen was also delighted to find that Kaylin was keen to accompany him to the sermons on the Chant of Light, which more and more Cullen found were a relaxing way to either start or end his days. Somehow the words of the Maker would always quiet him, and calm any turmoils he had picked up throughout the day, like weeds choking out his judgement or focus.

He always emerged from the Chantry with the feeling of having been spiritually cleansed, and it helped him to keep a clear mind during his Watch of Selena.

* * *

-x-

* * *

At last came the day when Cullen, Gillian, and the two other recruits who had been watching Selena over the course of the month of Drakonis were called to their Knight-Commander's office. First Enchanter Irving perched on a stool beside the desk and nodded to each of them as they came in.

The grand oak desk was covered with official looking documents, reports, and a time piece that ticked on furiously. There was a fire across the room that burned at a constant ember in the old, ornate grate, and a number of tapestries lined the walls. They fluttered against the stone on silent draughts that made their way through the corridors of the Tower.

The Knight-Commander did not immediately acknowledge their presence as they stood before his desk. His head was bowed, his quill scratching hurriedly against a piece of parchment. It was only when the First Enchanter softly cleared his throat that Greagoir looked up. He hid his surprise behind a cool gaze, and Cullen wondered what had kept his interest so keenly.

Greagoir pushed himself to his feet. "I don't often say this, recruits," he began after clearing his throat, "but I wanted to thank you. I understand that there have been no incidents of blood magic from our newest member, but the risk you took by watching over her nonetheless is appreciated. Spending so many hours attuned to the dealings of just one mage can be very exhausting."

Cullen didn't feel like it had been any particular risk or difficulty, but he nonetheless nodded his appreciation at the comment when the Knight-Commander's gaze fell upon him.

Greagoir moved from behind his desk and began pacing his office, causing the four templars to turn and watch him as he went. With his hands clasped behind his back and his armour glinting in the light of the fire, he looked quite formidable.

"I wanted you to be the first to know I have decided to promote each of you," he spoke, facing away from them and towards a portrait that hung above the fire place. "Your unwavering dedication to the Order during this trying time, and the punctual and efficient reports I have received, has not gone unnoticed. Your fellow templars will be made aware of this change and you will be issued with your new insignia shortly."

Cullen's heart swelled with pride, but he contained the smile that threatened to turn the corners of his mouth – celebration could wait until once they were dismissed. He had been at the Circle Tower for years and was one of hundreds of templars. Promotion meant different quarters and more duties within the Tower that went above simply watching the mages. While he would be sad to leave Gorim and Ser Kaylin, having less of an excuse to see Darrin would certainly avoid any unnecessary confrontation, and there was no reason he and the other two could not continue to see each other on a more social basis.

Greagoir turned back to the recruits with a glint in his eye. "As for the mage," he began, casting a quick glance to the First Enchanter, "we have decided that she may join her fellow mages in the Circle immediately. I have just sent one of my men down to retrieve her, and she will — "

He was interrupted by the thundering of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside. Frowning, he started towards the door, only to recoil slightly when the heavy door was thrown open with abandon, crashing against the stone.

"What is the meaning of this?" Greagoir demanded, his voice raised, and glared at the templar who had interrupted them. "This is a private meeting, you are not to – "

"Ser," the knight interrupted, and it was then that Cullen noticed the sheen of sweat at his brow. "There was an attack, in the isolation cells. The mage. She's gone. Darrin with her, Ser. I think… I think she means to kill him!"

* * *

**A/N**: I'm so sorry for the cliffhanger! Next chapter won't take too long :) Thank you and hello to the new followers, glad to have you along for the ride!


	5. Weight of Stone

**Disclaimer**: Dragon Age is Bioware's sandbox — I'm just playing in it!

* * *

**A Templar Unbound**

* * *

Chapter Five  
_Weight of Stone_

A blade of sunlight pierced through the tumble-down rafters of the roof, and Cullen lay there blinking at it, his head swimming.

He blinked once, twice, then sat up.

He was in his bed. In Skyhold. What in the name of the Maker…?

Tenderly, Cullen pressed his fingers to his temples, where a headache now seethed as violently and angrily as a rage demon living just behind his eyes. He stared around his room. A breeze that nipped at his skin, causing him to shiver, and draw back the covers to find with mild alarm that he was naked. Throwing back the bed cover, he dressed quickly, his nimble fingers working at his smallclothes, and then his armour, with the memory of having done so a thousand times before. His mind, however, was elsewhere.

He knew it hadn't been a dream — of that much he was certain. But to be wrenched so suddenly and forcefully from the vision, with no recollection of how he got here, or even what day it was. He frowned. The witch; had she done something?

It was only when he saw the orb, lying amongst a pile of rags in the corner, that he was drawn back to the present.

He was part way through fastening one of his buckles when his eyes fell upon the dark sphere, and he immediately found he was beside it, retrieving it from its home between the rags, all thoughts of dressing forgotten. He held up the sphere to the sun beam, but it stared back at him like a soulless, dark eye that reflected no light. Nestled in his palm it was cold, like it had spent its life in the shadows, like it had never known warmth. The chill radiated through his fingers and into his wrist, down his arm.

As he watched, strange shapes and colours began to move within the orb, as though it had captured the essence of flesh to replay to him at any time.

Since his time at Ferelden's Circle, Cullen had seen demons, abominations, corruptions, blood magic, and worse — all of them had been evil, and each time when he faced it, it was with the cold hand of fear tracing his spine. But this orb… He could feel the evil emanating off it as though it were the source of each and every one of those nightmares. As the chill travelled his body, the images within the orb seemed to engulf him, surround him — visions of the life he had tried to leave behind. Blood. Bodies. The smell of death that choked him. Mangled corpses, twisted faces of the people he had once known. And then the demons, and their torture, and the flesh ripped from his brothers inch by inch, their cries filling him so completely that he was drowning in their pain…

With a yell that burst from him as forcefully as a punch, he threw the Dema Sphere on to the bed. It didn't bounce, merely fell to the fabric with the weight of a stone.

"Maker forgive me," he murmured to the silence that followed.

Covering his face with his hands, Cullen turned away from the wretched thing and felt its cool hold over him recede. With a somewhat ragged breath, he dropped his hands — and came face to face with the Inquisitor.

"Maker's breath," he choked out in surprise. The woman was slight, but he would have expected to at least have heard her climb the ladder up to his sleeping quarters. "I-Inquisitor," he continued, stumbling over his words. "I… To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She wasted no time in formalities. "Cullen, are you all right?" She came towards him, a hand outstretched, and touched his elbow as she searched his eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Taken aback by her familiarity, Cullen lifted a hand and rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling self-conscious; he had never had the Inquisitor in his room before, though she had spent some considerable time in his office.

"I am fine, My Lady," he assured her, and stood between her view and that of the orb tangled in his bed sheets behind him, like a secret lover he did not want the world to know of. "Was there something I could do for you?"

He motioned to the ladder, hoping she would pick up on his not so subtle invitation to return to his office, but instead she stepped around his room and examined some vines crawling up one of his walls. He glanced to his bed, only to find, to his surprise, that the sphere was nowhere to be seen.

Without looking at him, the Inquisitor said, "We haven't seen much of each other since everything with Corypheus. I wanted to talk to you about what you intend to do next." When she turned around, her pale eyes fixed him with such a knowing look that he wondered briefly if she could see right through him. "You… do intend to continue to command our forces?"

Business as usual, then. Unbidden, Cullen's mind graced him with memories of golden hair, a laugh that tinkled like bells, supple curves — no. He clenched his fist. Not now.

"Why do you ask, Inquisitor?"

He hadn't meant to sound so guarded, but at the expression the Inquisitor's fell to at his response, Cullen could have kicked himself for inviting further question. How was he supposed to tell her that part of the reason he had joined the Inquisition was in the hopes they would one day have enough resources to search for the Dema Sphere? That was not something an honourable man did, much less admit to.

The Inquisitor stepped towards him. "Cullen, if there's something we can do for you to make you more comfortable here. A roof, for example." She glanced to the ceiling, and to the gaping hole and crumbling wall.

Cullen found himself smiling. "A… roof might be nice, come to speak of it. I did without when we needed all our resources for keeping Skyhold safe and fortified, but with the threat reduced, I could probably afford that small indulgence."

He'd hoped to draw a smile from her, but to no avail. Her eyes still shone with worry, darting between his and causing a small line to appear between them, just above her nose. She always had been astute.

"You worry me, Cullen," she said softly.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "I… do not mean to, My Lady."

"When I first met you, on the way to the Breach with Cassandra, I watched you help a soldier get away from the wreckage. You pulled his arm around your shoulders and walked with him. You didn't even think about it, you just did it."

Cullen cleared his throat, embarrassed at having been scrutinised so fully. "If the man needed my help, then of course — "

"You're a good Commander, Cullen. You're a good man. This Inquisition wouldn't be what it is today without you. I need you by my side to forge a future of stability."

"Lady Inquisitor, I have no intention of leaving the Inquisition," he said, drawing himself up straightly. "I don't know what has given you this concern, but I am sworn to this cause as much as I ever have been, if not more so." He touched his hand to his breastplate. "I follow your lead, My Lady."

This seemed to ease her fears, as her shoulders relaxed and she gave him a smile. "Good. I knew Morrigan didn't know what she was talking about."

At the name, he froze.

"…Morrigan? You spoke with Morrigan about this?"

Briefly, he recalled the first time he had met her, when he had been bound by that demon's energy cage in the Tower. She had stood before him between a templar pretender and the Hero of Ferelden, a wicked gleam in her eye that ten years hadn't done a thing to dim. She almost seemed like she'd marvelled at the magical cage holding him, hungering for its power.

The Inquisitor waved away his comment as though it were a bothersome fly. "She found me while I was wandering the gardens, and questioned how well I knew your motives for being here. She seemed to imply that she knew more than she was letting on. She also said to tell you…" The Inquisitor frowned, and glanced away from him.

"Yes?"

She looked up to him, a coy smile on her lips. "Playing messenger isn't something I'm used to, Commander. Is there something I should know?"

While she was joking, that didn't stop the twist of guilt that lurched through his stomach.

"I… Ah…"

The smile at her eyes faded, and she glanced behind him, towards the bed. She frowned. "What's that?" she asked, moving towards the bed.

Cullen moved to intercept her, panic fluttering in his chest. "I — nothing, My Lady."

But she ignored him, side stepping his attempt at blocking her. Seized by panic, his hands went for her, an explanation tumbling from his lips. He was desperate to keep her from learning the truth. As a cry left his body, tearing through his throat, his hands found her. They gripped, and tangled, into... nothing. The apparition of the Inquisitor disappeared before his very eyes.

Cullen stumbled forward helplessly. The stone wall slapped against his hands, stinging his palms, and he stood there panting for a moment. Then he whirled around towards where the orb lay on the bed, sitting like a black hole amongst his pristine sheets. Mocking him. The room was empty, and he was alone. A sense of dread prickled at the base of his spine and a wave of nausea overcame him. Andraste's sword, what was happening to him? He slumped down on to the bed, his skin feeling tight, drawn, his eyes stinging with tiredness. Dropping his head to his hands he buried his fingertips to his scalp, blinking away the blinding tears that had sprung to his eyes.

"Maker," he uttered, the word leaving him on a shaky breath. "I am going mad."

The Inquisitor had never been there at all: he had imagined her, and their entire conversation. His mouth felt dry. He had experienced hallucinations before, thanks to his Lyrium withdrawal, but this potency was different...

He glared at the Dema Sphere, its perfect blackness giving rise to whispers inside his head. With an angry jerk, he covered the thing with his bed sheets, hiding it from view. Getting to his feet, he finished fastening his armour and headed towards the ladder. He didn't notice the curious pair of eyes that watched him from the rooftop.

* * *

-x-

* * *

Cullen swept through the corridors of Skyhold fortress, his mood as sour as a plate of milk left in the sun. Where he would normally have stopped to make polite conversation or check on his soldiers, he marched straight towards Morrigan's quarters. He was only mildly surprised to find it was empty.

Upon learning that she spent the majority of her time in the Chantry gardens from a servant nearby, a fact that baffled him when he thought about, he set his mouth in a grim line and went in search of her. She was easy enough to spot in her unseemly robes, flaunting the fact she was an apostate in front of the very people who once would have sought to condemn her. It had never really crossed his mind how dangerous of an ally they had found in her, until now.

She was chatting with a woman he didn't recognise, and he waited impatiently until there was a break in their conversation. Morrigan had astutely ignored him upon his arrival at her side.

"A moment, Lady Morrigan," he said sternly, and took her by the elbow to a secluded part of the gardens, overhung by the fort.

While she let herself be led by him, she bristled at his touch. "Unhand me, you simple man, or I will turn you into a toad."

Cullen released her with a frown once they reached the darkness of the corridor. "Have a care, my Lady, I only meant – "

"Perhaps you are used to having people follow your orders, but not I." While her voice was abrupt, her eyes sparked with mischief. "Has something spooked you, Commander?"

"You know very well why I am here." He lowered his voice. "We had barely begun, and I found myself suddenly in my chambers, with no recollection of how I got there."

"Well, you did not think to re-live your entire life in but one evening, did you? 'Twould be foolish to do such a thing." Morrigan crossed her arms in front of her, fixing the Commander with an expression that said he should have known better. So, it had only been the one evening, then. At least that was something. "I know you are eager, but patience must be exercised in all things, even this. Especially in this, one might argue. These are not simple magics you play with."

"I am not playing with any magic!" Cullen replied heatedly, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. He took a breath, calming himself. "Just tell me how I can… I don't want any needless interruptions. And…" He frowned, then, recalling everything that he had seen so far. "All of that, it's just memory, so far. Nothing is different. How long before — "

Morrigan raised a hand, her palm outward, cutting him off. "The Sphere will show you what you need to see, templar. How long it takes to tell its tale will rely on how ready you are to see it. 'Tis not a simple thing to re-write the fabric of time."

"But you said it wouldn't change anything. Not here."

She gave him a simpering smile, as though he were something she wouldn't wish to tread in. It flared in him an anger that he tamped down by swallowing and moving his gaze out into the gardens instead.

"Do not ask me to explain to you the complex workings of an object older than this earth," she said, her voice quiet. "Even I do not know its full potential. You have tapped in to the Sphere once, now, so it will recognise you when you do so again. That is why it has an earthly presence now. Why you are here interrogating me, rather than continuing on your journey, I have no idea. I can't imagine you want to spend more time with me."

Cullen glanced at her quickly. "I do not wish to be disturbed again. Or, I should say, I would rather not find myself in a suddenly uncompromising position. If I can be drawn back to here, now, without any warning whatsoever — "

"You awoke as though from sleep, did you not?"

"…Yes."

Morrigan sighed, not unlike how she might if she were explaining something to a small child. "That will always be the way. No matter how long you spend in that other world, you will always awake in this one."

Realisation dawned on Cullen, and his eyes widened. "The world here — it doesn't stop, does it?"

"No," said Morrigan with a smirk. "However much time you invest into the Dema Sphere, you will lose from your life here. I trust that isn't an issue, Commander?"

He had half a mind to take that saccharine smile and ram it into the wall, but he refrained.

"No issue," he said instead, his teeth gritted, and went to move past the infuriating mage. "Good day, Morrigan."

She watched him go with a twinkle in her eye. "Pleasant dreams, Commander."

* * *

-x-

* * *

Cullen sat in his office, his hands tense at his sides. Before him on the desk, the Dema Sphere lay proudly in its throne of rags, like a black hole pulling at his thoughts. Again he felt the whispers rise up around him as he looked at it, and again he tried to shake them off. He took a breath, glancing towards the door to make sure it was locked. It was late in the afternoon and he had seen to the few reports that had been passed his way. His mind went to Selena, to what she had become, to what he had lost… And he reached forward, gripping the orb in his palms.

The world went black.

* * *

-x-

* * *

"_Gone_? What do you mean she's gone? What attack?" Greagoir stalked towards the door, towering above the knight before him. "The Void take you boy, what happened?"

"There is no need to frighten the lad, Greagoir." This voice was Irving's, and he rose from the stool he sat at with a stern expression.

"I'll remind you that your affairs concern only the mages of this Tower, First Enchanter," said the Knight-Commander, his teeth gritted.

Irving cleared his throat. "Indeed." Turning to the templar in the doorway, he said, "Did you see what happened?"

The knight came into the room, and faced the Knight-Commander, offering him a salute. "Ser Fralen and I were keeping watch over Anders, as was our rota, Ser. Your templars were watching that other mage who's been down there. Then out of nowhere there was... there was ..." The knight seemed to falter, and his arm began to shake. His face was ashen, his eyes wide. Cullen wanted to go to his side and help calm him, but the Knight-Commander issued a swift grunt.

"Out with it, boy."

Closing his eyes, the knight pushed on, "There was a demon, Ser. A rage demon. I swear by Andraste's sword I have never seen anything so..."

At this, the Knight-Commander seemed to soften. He put an arm gently on the recruit's shoulder. "I understand. Tell me, where is the demon now? Is it — is it still a danger?"

"It's… it's dead, Ser. I think. We – the three of us, we cut it down. There was so much fire... I couldn't see clearly for the shouts and cries. We..." He bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. "Ser Fralen didn't make it, Ser. But the demon was struck down and it... There's just ash and cinders now." When he raised his head again, his eyes were hard, glassy. "But the mage was gone."

"I see."

The Knight-Commander stepped away from the young lad, all at once the military authority that Cullen had come to know him as.

"We must spread out. Cover the grounds and Tower completely. If one of our own is danger, we must act quickly. Gillian, Tarim, you take the northern floor. Cullen, you take the grounds. She can't have gone far and by the Maker's blood we will find Ser Darrin before anything happens to him. First Enchanter, if you would be so kind as to assist with the help of some of your Seniors, we should hopefully find her swiftly. My belief is she will be in the Tower — bigger place to make a scene."

Cullen wasn't convinced, but he saluted and did as his Knight-Commander ordered. A rage demon in the Tower? It was unthinkable, and once they found Selena and Ser Darrin, he knew a full investigation would be launched. But the first thing was to get them — both of them — back safely.

As he jogged through the corridors, he couldn't escape the feeling that something about this entire situation was very wrong indeed.


End file.
